


Any Other Drabble #3: Now With 2020 Vision!

by keelywolfe



Series: by any other name [96]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Fluff, Humor, M/M, Neighborhood Kids - Freeform, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underswap Papyrus (Undertale)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:47:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 15,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22162027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: Even more drabbles from the BAON universe!
Relationships: Papyrus/Papyrus (Undertale), Spicyhoney
Series: by any other name [96]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1039829
Comments: 474
Kudos: 211





	1. Lessons Learned

* * *

“you guys know i don’t drive, right?”

His weak plea didn’t make much of an impact on the kids who were currently bullying him into the front of the toboggan. Yeah, sure, he was taller than two and a half of them put together, but they had an unfair advantage. Namely those big, hopeful eyes they’d given him when he’d opened his front door to find them on his porch.

“You aren’t driving,” Oscar told him brightly. “You’re ballast!”

Okay, he’d always known teaching these kids engineering was a bad idea. 

Soon enough, he was cramped up at the front of the sled. Even with his legs crossed, his knees overhung the sides by a few good inches. Four kids piled on behind him, shoving him even further forward and the toboggan lurched ominously, teetering on the brink. 

The hill was on the very edge of the school playground and all of New New Home lay before them. Like, way down before them, down, down, down, and yeah, okay, this was a terrible idea.

“you know what, guys, maybe i should just…shhiiiiiiiit!!!”

His scream was mixed up with all the rest, the lot of them a living fire engine as the toboggan tipped over and went careened down the hill. The world blurred around them in a stream of white, wind tearing at his hat and chilling his face as the toboggan picked up speed, shooshing through the snow to the base of the hill. 

It was hard to even see with the sun glaring off the snow. Stretch squinted through it and the rushing wind, and that was when he realized they were speeding towards the jungle gym and Stretch had no idea how to steer this deathtrap. 

_Shit, shit, shit, shit--_

He flung an arm back, trying to touch every kid he could, hoping they were all clinging tightly to each other. A bare moment before the empty toboggan crashed into the jungle gym, Stretch shortcutted the whole conga line of them into a snowdrift in a rolling, tumbling ball. 

Once he came to a stop, Stretch flopped over onto his back, panting as he stared up at the gray sky, groaning out, “ow, ow, ow.”

Holy fuck, he’d never teleported that many people at once before and he never, ever wanted to do it again. For the first time ever he got an inkling of what Edge felt whenever they took a sidestep into the void; nausea roiling through him and he lay there, cold snow seeping through his clothes as he waited for his nonexistant guts to settle so he didn’t hurl all the magic generated from his very nice lunch. 

The kids didn’t seem as perturbed, the little brats. They laughed and cheered, clapping their mittened hands. At least one of them was shouting, ‘Again, again!’, which was further proof that what kids really needed in the way of supervision was someone to keep them from certain death. 

A shame certain parents seemed to think Stretch qualified for the job.

The cheers dwindled off into subdued silence and Stretch pried open a socket to see a pair of well polished boots next to his head. He followed them up, up, past tight pants, lingering on a shapely pelvis before continuing, up over a puffy jacket and coming to a stop bang on a pair of furiously burning crimson eye lights. 

“um,” Stretch smiled and lifted a hand in a weak wave, “hi, babe.”

“Hello,” Edge said acidly. He had his arms crossed over his chest, glaring down at all of them. The kids were crowded together, heads hanging, and Stretch kinda wanted to join them, maybe way at the back. 

Scrambling away to hide with a bunch of kids was too low a blow for even his dignity, and Stretch sadly put that option aside, saying meekly, “guess maybe you saw that.”

“I guess maybe I did. Only the entire journey. I hope we’ve all learned an important lesson here.”

“if we haven’t, i did,” Stretch groaned. “many, many lessons.” Every part of him ached, he wasn’t looking forward to seeing how he was gonna feel tonight. 

“Someone could have been hurt, take more care, please.” Edge stalked away, his boots crunching crisply in the snow. 

Stretch lifted his head enough to look at the kids. Who all looked chastened, their heads hanging. A scolding from Edge was like getting griped at by Superman, yeesh. 

“wanna go again?” Stretch offered, and four small faces lit up.

Yep, very important lessons learned. For starters, if they wanted to go faster, the tallest person needed to go at the back of the toboggan. 

-finis-


	2. Always the Prettiest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on twitter conversations, Edge is a secretly a Disney Princess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, nothing I'm supposed to be writing is cooperating, so I wrote this [based off of a twitter conversation here](https://twitter.com/keelywolfe/status/1212426202620796929)  
>   
> [hj_skb already made some adorable art for this](https://twitter.com/hj_skb/status/1214753158033035264) so how could I resist?

* * *

The birdfeeders were Edge’s idea. Probably. 

Not that he’d actually said anything about them. The feeders had just been _there_ , hung up for Stretch to find the next time he went outside. One day the small corner at the front of their house was relatively empty, the next it had a pair of feeders, filled with bright red liquid and a little patch of flowers planted around the base. 

Not exactly unusual, Edge tended to do things like that without consulting Stretch about it. He didn’t mind, nah, generally when it came to the Home and Gardens section of their daily lives, he was more than happy to have Edge take care of it without a chat. Though he did wonder sometimes whether it was because it simply didn’t occur to Edge to bring it up or if it was more deliberate, Edge trying to see how long it would take for Stretch to notice. A way of hiding little treats around the house for him to find. 

It was entirely possible it’d been there for a week or longer and Stretch walked past the damn thing without even noticing. Look, his attention wandered, okay, he couldn’t notice _everything_.

He might never know exactly when Edge did his little Bob Villa act. Edge didn’t bring it up and Stretch didn’t ask, because there was a more subtle mystery for him to follow, his curiosity hopping like popcorn on a hot pan: what exactly were those feeders for? 

Yeah, that was the good stuff and Stretch watched them eagerly to see what Edge was trying to coax into their yard. 

For a while, there wasn’t much happening. The feeders stayed filled, swaying lightly in the breeze, but nothing was dropping in for a snack. Then one morning he glanced out and saw it. 

A hummingbird, so tiny he nearly missed it. Bright green feathers with a splash of ruby at its throat, it flitted around the feeder, zipping this way and that. Stretch watched it in utter fascination. He knew the physics behind flight, knew how the little bird did it, but seeing it was different, like watching something magical. Not magic in the way Monsters knew it, the inborn gifts that allowed them to heal or manifest tools for an attack, no, this, this was like nothing he’d grown up seeing every day and twice on Sundays. He sat for too long, watching in wide-socketed enchantment, watched as others joined it, a family of such tiny, delicate creatures sipping from the plastic flowers. 

It was soothing, in a way, got to be a habit of his. He’d get up in the morning and pour a cup of coffee, go outside and sit on the porch steps while he drank it and watch the hummingbirds flutter around, occasionally interrupted by the lazy passage of a butterfly. Not a bad way to start the day.

None of that prepared him for what came later.

It was much earlier than he normally got up on a Saturday. He’d woken up to an empty bed and if Edge was already gone, wasn’t much point in lingering anymore, was there. The roller coaster was shut down, the amusement park was closed. He’d try again tonight to see if they could get the bumper cars going. 

He shambled on downstairs, following his nasal bone to the glory that was fresh coffee and poured a cup, breathing in the fumes as he wandered out into the living room. Just as he was taking a sip, he looked up and that was when he saw it. 

Edge was outside, filling up the feeder. That in itself wasn’t an impressive sight, survey said that he had to be doing it sometime. What had him gaping, his coffee cup hanging in the air inches from his mouth, was the hummingbirds. 

He didn’t go near the feeder himself, that’d been a lesson learned right off. Tiny little birds weren’t real happy about horribly tall skeleton Monsters tromping around them. Two steps in that direction and they’d zipped away, so now Stretch stayed on the porch.

Except that theory was currently being thoroughly disproven because Edge was out there right now with half a dozen birds fluttering excitedly around him, doing little zoomies around his arms and strafing past his skull. 

Cautiously, Stretch opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. It was so worth it because all the little stars, Edge was talking to them like a skeletal Snow White, all he needed was a tiara to sparkle in the sunlight.

“Calm down, I’m almost finished,” Edge said and the amused exasperation in his throaty voice sent shivers up Stretch’s spine. “Always so impatient for breakfast.”

He topped off the feeder, screwing the lid on and hanging it back up. The tiny hummingbirds instantly flew in, rapturously sipping from the clusters of plastic flowers. 

All except for one, who flittered around in dismay, unable to push in through its brethren to find a spot. 

“Greedy things, aren’t they,” Edge told it and he shook his head in mock dismay, to Stretch’s everlasting delight. “Here, you must be starving, no need to wait.”

Stretch could only watch in disbelief as Edge picked up something from the tray. It looked like a small jar lid. He filled it with some of that red liquid and set it on his palm, holding his hand out flat and still. The hummingbird went to it instantly, lighting on Edge’s hand, tinier than one of his phalanges, its glossy feathers bright against the black of his gloves as it dipped its needle-thin beak into the sugar water. 

Stretch stared, dumbfounded. Holy shit, he _was_ married to Snow White.

Long minutes were probably ticking by, but it felt like they were frozen in time, that daily magic moment opening up to let his husband inside. Edge smiling faintly at the little bird in his hand while half dozen others fluttered around him trustingly, magic of a kind Stretch never knew, but he treasured a chance to witness it. 

Wasn’t any telling what finally broke the spell. Maybe he absently sipped his coffee too loudly, maybe his bare feet scraped against the concrete and sent out a warning. Whatever it was, it was a turning point. One second the hummingbirds were there, the next, they’d vanished, leaving Edge standing out there alone. 

His shoulders rose and fell in a sigh as Edge turned to gather up his tray. 

Stretch could only give him a remorseful look as he walked over. “i’m sorry, babe, i didn’t mean to scare them off.”

Edge only shrugged, unconcerned, “They’ll come back. They have their meal ticket now, they won’t stay away long.”

“kinda cynical there for a princess,” Stretch teased and it was made sweeter by Edge blinking in confusion.

“What did you call—” Stretch didn’t give him a chance to finish, flopped his arms around Edge’s neck and took a nuzzly little kiss. 

Maybe he could persuade his princess to make a different kind of magic this morning. 

-finis-


	3. When Skies Are Grey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are my sunshine, my only sunshine....

* * *

Edge flicked his hood over his skull as he went out to get the mail. It wasn’t snowing so much as the slate-gray sky was drizzling down a nasty cold slush. The mailbox held nothing but grocery store flyers, hardly worth the trip, and after he hung up his dripping jacket to dry, Edge added them to the recycling and was once again at a loss. 

The plans of the day were canceled due to the weather, leaving him with a very disappointed husband, and while Edge had plenty that could keep himself busy, none of it appealed when he knew Stretch was so miserable.

Stretch was currently sitting curled up in an armchair that was pushed in front of the picture window. There was a large, fluffy blanket wrapped around him and he stared out at the gray skies with morose intensity. On the windowsill was a mug, still lightly wafting steam. It held Edge’s last offering of tea, but from the look of it, Stretch only took a sip or two before setting it aside. 

He was a perfect picture of melancholy, one that could easily take a place of honor on Wikipedia.

“Love?” Edge called softly. He was loathe to step into the role of overprotective, but seeing Stretch so unhappy made an ache settle in his chest. “Everything all right?”

“yeah,“ Stretch sighed. He twisted in the chair, grimacing as a fold of blanket came loose and he tucked it back in hastily before any heat could escape. “i mean, nothing’s wrong, it’s just--” His skull drooped down to rest on the chair arm, his mouth was almost buried in the depths of the blanket, muffling his words. “it’s terrible outside.”

“Yes,” Edge agreed. He walked over and settled a gloved hand on top of Stretch’s skull, stroking the zygomatic bone lightly with his thumb, “it’s not exactly a sunny day, is it. Did you want to do something? We could go into town for lunch, perhaps stop at the Beanery?”

Stretch sighed and pressed against Edge’s hand, just a little, silently urging him on, “i do, but i don't. i want...i dunno what i want.”

Edge smiled a little. “So what you’re going to do then is sit here and sulk because the weather is terrible?”

“yes,” Stretch said grouchily. He hitched the blanket up a little higher, burrowing deeper into the soft depths.

“All right.” Edge turned back into the living room and took hold of another armchair, tugging it across the carpet up to the window. Once that was situated, he went to the linen closet and chose a blanket from the neat pile, shaking it loose from the crisp lines and wrapping it around himself. In no time, he was cocooned in his own chair, the blanket pulled up to just beneath his chin.

Stretch watched him the entire time, his brow bone furrowing deeper by the moment. “what are you doing?”

“Helping you sulk.” Edge sighed deeply with the greatest of melancholy, propping his chin on his hand and schooled his expression to a mournful one as he gazed out the window. 

An unwilling smile tugged at Stretch’s mouth. “stop it.”

“What? We’re sulking because the weather is bad. I’m perfectly capable of sulking.”

Stretch sacrificed a leg to the cold, reaching out to give Edge a rude nudge with his toes. “just stop, you brat. i can sulk on my own.”

“Nonsense, if we both sulk together, you’ll be able to finish much faster than on your own.”

Stretch gave him another shove, his toes pinching lightly before he gave up and brought his leg back into the fold. His sigh was deep and heartfelt, and Edge matched it, making sure to add the same little groaning lilt to the end. The muffled laughter that followed it Edge ignored and he kept his gaze on the drizzly snow, careful to keep his sockets half-hooded with forlorn misery. 

The chair across from him creaked as Stretch finally stood, his blanket dragging behind him as he shuffled over and Edge was forced to shift as far as he could to one side when Stretch plopped down next to him, draping his blanketed legs over Edge’s equally covered lap. 

With a little judicious shifting, they fit comfortably enough, Stretch snuggling into Edge’s arms. “happy now?”

“No, of course not, I’m supposed to be sulking.” Edge suppressed his own chuckle as Stretch shook next to him with a soft laugh.

“i think i got my quota in, thanks for helping,” Stretch said wryly. His expression softened, warmed, “you always know how to make me smile.”

Not always, but Edge was certainly up to try. He rescued Stretch’s hand from the blankets and pressed a light kiss against his wedding band, then shifted to do the same against his forehead, breathing in his sweetness mingled with the cleanliness of laundry detergent as he held him close. “Anytime, love. Anytime.”

The clouds could keep their melancholy, the only sunshine Edge needed was that smile. 

-finis-


	4. Cooped Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having your leg in a cast can make for a foul (fowl?) mood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anytime I'm down, I seem to lean on a chicken drabble to cheer me up. Hopefully it works for Edge, too.

* * *

“After spending the entire week scolding me to stay on the sofa, now suddenly you want me mobile?” Edge carefully maneuvered through the sliding glass door on his crutches out to the back porch. The entire patio was shoveled free of snow, not a single patch of ice lingering to slip him up. 

Stretch only looked at him with the purest mock indignance he could muster as he closed the door behind them. “scolding? ‘scuse me, i think what you meant to say was i’ve been gently but firmly encouraging you to follow the doctor’s orders.”

“I see,” Edge settled into one of the cleared off chairs with a grunt, “it only becomes scolding when I’m the one who does it.”

“now you’ve got it, thanks for coming to my tedtalk.”

Edge allowed Stretch to fuss over him, setting his crutches to the side and carefully propping his foot on a low footstool brought out from their living room. 

Normally that sort of coddling would aggravate him, but Edge’s irritation at the fretting ended when it dawned on him that Stretch likely needed this. He was the one injured, true, but Stretch hardly came through the event unscathed. Humoring him a little cost Edge nothing but perhaps a little stubborn pride and if he couldn’t spare that for the one he loved, then perhaps he needed to reorganize his priorities.

It made it much easier to allow Stretch to help even though his foot wasn’t paining him much at all. The residual healing magic was doing its work and while Toriel might still want to offer uncomfortable gratitude over saving her child, Edge considered any debt well and truly paid. He’d seen the damage beforehand and there was little doubt that if she hadn’t begun healing him almost immediately, he would have lost the leg.

That was an observation he planned to keep to himself.

His current lack of pain gave him hope that his checkup would allow for them to replace this bulky plaster cast with a walking one and after that perhaps he’d be getting to work on his new normal, which the doctor was certain would only be a little scarring and not so much as a limp to hold him back. Time would tell, there was no point in borrowing any trouble. 

“And why are we out here?” With the gray skies overhead, it was hardly a welcoming day. 

“‘cause you’re going bug fuck inside,” Stretch said frankly. He tucked his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels. “i can see it in your eye lights. thought maybe a change of scenery would help. out here we can at least sit with the ladies a while.”

The ladies in question were at the coop door already and growing louder by the minute. They didn’t spend as much time outside in the winter as they did summertime, mostly because Stretch wasn’t able to sit with them as long in the cold. But the day was a balmy enough one for the season and he could see from here that all of them were fluffed up and ready to spend a little time in the chill.

“okay, okay, calm down,” Stretch laughed. “He can’t exactly run away.” He shortcutted over to open the coop gate and three chickens came galloping out towards him. Edge was already braced for a lapful of feathery adoration when suddenly their mad dash slowed, then stopped, all three hens milling around in confusion. 

“that’s new,” Stretch frowned. He walked over to where they’d stopped and crouched down, running a hand down Noodle’s back. “what’s up, guys, normally he can’t keep you away.”

But none of them came closer and Edge was struck with an incongruous twinge of hurt; the chickens had adored him from the beginning, what could possibly—?

Nugget resumed the approach first, creeping warily closer. The moment she was in range, she began pecking furiously at Edge’s cast, attacking it with all the ferocity her tiny body could muster.

“huh,” Stretch’s mouth twisted wryly, “guess your new leg apparel has them _on edge_.”

“Hilarious,” Edge said dryly. He reached down and clicked his tongue softly. It seemed Nugget’s wariness wasn’t a match for her obsessive affection. She hopped easily into Edge’s lap, crooning softly as he stroked her. 

That was enough for the other two. Noodle was next to scramble up, giving the cast a beady-eyed look before hopping into his lap, which left Dumpling on the ground, cackling her distress at not being able to join the others.

“sorry, chickie, his lap has a two bird limit.” Stretch sat and patted his own lap and Dumpling grudgingly went to him, her sulking vanishing as Stretch gave her gentle scritches.

Edge gentle stroked their glossy feathers while both tried to crowd in closer, demanding an equal share of petting. He couldn’t keep from smiling faintly at their antics. The day was grayish and cold, their breath steaming in the chilly air, but Stretch was right. 

A change of scenery did make for a better mood.

-finis-


	5. Hatters Gonna Hat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One should be wary of unexpected gifts.

* * *

From the very first moment the doctor told him he would need a cast on his leg, Edge began formulating expectation on how this would affect his day to day life. For as long as he needed to keep it elevated, cooking was off the table (no pun intended), he couldn’t navigate the stairs in the basement to the washer and dryer, but he would be able to fold the clothing if brought to him. He could work on his laptop, he could read the paper, watch the news, and catch up on darning every single holey sock in his basket. 

That was what he assumed would be the case. But what he quickly learned was what the cast really did was turn him into one of Stretch’s absolutely favorite things:

A captive audience. 

Not that Edge minded, not at all. If there was one bright point to this, it was getting to spend time with Stretch. There was nothing quite as charming as listening to him excitedly talk about a new experiment or describing how his latest grilled cheese was almost sacrificed upon the altar of his inattention. 

Listening to Stretch was something he never, ever tired of. 

So when Stretch came barging downstairs that afternoon, a wide grin already splitting his face, Edge was already saving the work on his laptop, ready to set it aside and once again take on the role of attentive audience. 

He nearly skidded to a stop in front of the sofa and Edge, his hands behind his back like a child playing a guessing game as he rocked on his heels and announced, “i made you something.”

“Did you?” Edge said neutrally. He set his laptop aside; this was going to require his full attention.

“i made you a hat!” Not entirely a surprise, he’d noticed Stretch being oddly secretive with his knitting. Somewhat more surprising was when he held up what looked like a knotted handful of yarn, mostly in greys and browns.

“That seems…interesting.” Of his selection of replies, that one seemed safest.

Not that Stretch was fooled. He scoffed, “it’s a different style, doubting thomas, here let me put it on you.”

Edge immediately leaned away from his hands and the dubious hat, eyeing it warily. “You’re being a little too helpful.”

“what? i’m always helpful!” That wide-eyed wounded expression that was about as believable as his next ploy, "don't you trust me?"

"With life and limb, always, with my dignity, almost never," Edge said dryly. That hurt look took on a surprisingly effective wibble, his chin quivering as he met Edge’s stare pleadingly. Edge sighed deeply and surrendered. “Fine, go ahead.”

It was almost worth the upcoming disgrace to see that beaming smile on Stretch’s face. With a few quick movements, the ‘hat’ was nestled snugly on his head. The yarn itself was very soft and warm, the hat covering his entire skull and it seemed to have a sort of face shield as well. That might be useful on days when he was shoveling their sidewalk. 

The problem was that Stretch was snickering before he even finished tugging the hat into place. By the time he stepped away, one hand covering his mouth in a fruitless attempt to stifle that laughter, Edge was resigned to his fate. “What have you done?”

“wait, wait,” Stretch giggled. He pulled out his phone, unmoved by Edge’s glare as he snapped a few pictures. Only when he turned his phone to Edge and showed him did he understand. 

The hat looked as if there were two horns sprouting from the sides, standing in stiff, upright peaks from a cap of gray, and the face shield was in fact a knitted beard that hung all the way down to his chest, with long braids making up a sort of moustache. The effect of his deep crimson eye lights glaring out made him look like some sort of cheaply-made undead Viking in one of those horrid old movies that Stretch loved so. 

Stretch was doubled over with laughter by now, tears standing out in his sockets and Edge could only shake his head and tug the hat off. “Your sense of humor could use a tune up, love.”

“nah, i think it’s in perfect working order,” Stretch snickered. He wiped at those looming tears. “come on, that was hilarious.”

“Hilarious,” Edge said, deadpan. He pointed a sharp finger at his husband, “I better not see that picture on twitter or Instagram or any other social media platform where my staff can see it.”

“aw, come on, babe, would i do that to you?” And there was a genuine touch of offended hurt.

“No,” Edge agreed softly, “you wouldn’t. That said—"

It was probably an honest mistake that Stretch stayed within reach, that awful depth perception of his working against him. The cast that kept Edge as a captive audience wasn’t enough to slow him from grabbing hold of Stretch’s arm, reeling him laughingly in. Despite his squirming, Edge forced the hat on him, the beard hanging crookedly as Stretch fought weakly, giggling too hard to be very effective. 

Edge held him down with one hand, snatching up his phone with the other to take a few hasty pictures. Most of them were blurry smears but a few shots framed Stretch’s newly, if somewhat messily, bearded face. 

By the time he finished, Stretch was sagging weakly across his lap, the hat still askew on his skull as he gasped for breath. 

“There we are, a few pictures for your twitter,” Edge told him, flipping through the shots until he found the best one. That one, of Stretch with his head tipped back, his laughing smile visible beneath the tangle of yarn, he texted to Stretch. 

“thanks, babe.” The gratitude in those words was for more than the picture and when he cupped Edge’s face in his hands, kissing him through that false beard, all Edge wanted was to taste the sweetness of that smile. 

He might be the captive audience, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t hold on just as tight. 

-finis-


	6. Unintentional Summonings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is out of the timeline, but TheSinBubble asked me if Stretch always liked the weird concoctions that he orders at the Beanery and what would happen if he didn't. 
> 
> I love that, had to write it. ^_^

* * *

Eleven am was a perfect time to visit the Beanery. Caught in between the morning and afternoon rush, it was one of the few times the shop wasn’t brimming with customers. Stretch came often at this time, Edge knew, and on rare occasions Edge found time to join him. 

Jennie brought Edge his usual and he nodded his thanks, taking a gratified sip as he stood back and watched Debbie and Stretch go through their normal ritual. He had no idea what exactly a venti, banana chocolate strawberry matcha, double whip, double shot, with a sprinkle and a straw was, but watching Debbie produce it was almost a magic of its own. 

“a minute fifty-nine!” Stretch informed her gleefully as Debbie patted her sweating brow with a napkin. “not a record breaker, but a damn fine effort!”

“They can’t all be record breakers,” she agreed laughingly, writing the time on the ‘Beat the Monster Challenge’ chalkboard. She posed next to it with a thumbs up and a grin when Stretch took her picture and gave them a last wave as she went to help the next customer. 

Edge carried both of their drinks over to their regular table while Stretch uploaded the picture to twitter, his thumbs clattering lightly against the glass screen. He slid into his side of the booth without even looking up and Edge wondered with idle amusement if Stretch might run into things less if he simply closed his eyes and didn’t let his wonky depth perception lead him astray. More than once Stretch swore he was going to have a permanent bruise from their coffee table’s constant assaults on his shins. 

“there,” Stretch finally sighed, tucking his phone away, “free advertising is a go!” 

“How many likes do those posts get?” Edge asked curiously. He had a twitter, but it followed exactly four people and one of them was Gordon Ramsey, and that was only because Stretch was the one to set it up for him. 

Stretch shrugged. “usually a few k. people love ‘em and deb says they always get a mini-rush after i do ‘em. i try not to do them too often, don’t want people to get sick of it and ruin the good thing we got going.”

No, that certainly wouldn’t do. The same way Stretch’s lunchtime reviews of local restaurants or new entertainment often resulted in a huge influx of business, along with another Monster friendly location for the residents of New New Home to enjoy. For someone who didn’t want to work for the Embassy, Stretch somehow managed to sidestep his way into helping their people in unspoken and often underappreciated ways. 

But Edge knew and silently loved him all the more for it. 

“besides, you gotta--” Edge never learned what it was ‘you gotta’ do, because Stretch was speaking around his straw in that exasperating way he had and the words trailed off on the first sip into an incoherent gurgle. His face flushed alarmingly, eye lights going wide and diffused, and he clapped a hand over his mouth, cheek bones puffing out overtop it as he gagged. 

Before Edge could even ask if he was all right, Stretch swallowed hard with a loud gulping sound, once, twice, until he finally took it a shuddery breath. Sweat was beading on his forehead and Stretch wiped it away with his sleeve, still faintly gasping.

“I take it that it’s not to your taste,” Edge said dryly. 

“um, no, holy shit, that’s vile!” Stretch coughed. “i think those combined ingredients caused a chemical reaction ‘cause that ain’t coffee anymore, that’s poison, they shouldn’t be sharing a cup. that’s the kind of thing you brew if you’re doing a ritual of some sort and you need to summon a caffeine demon.”

“Right, well, I’m sure Debbie would prefer we keep all summonings to a minimum,” Edge began to stand, reaching for the cup. “I’ll get you something else.” 

“no, i’ll drink it.” To his surprise, Stretch pulled the cup out of his reach, scowling at him. Or perhaps at the drink, possibly even the world in general because his eye lights were darting around, settling on nothing.

“Yes, and then you’ll be vomiting out the car window on the way home,” Edge retorted, “You just said it’s poison in a cup, don’t be ridiculous.” He reached out again. 

“please, don’t.” That stopped him. The words were a little too soft, a little too small, and Stretch blinked hard as he mumbled, “deb made it for me, i don’t want to hurt her feelings.”

That uncertainty was one he knew well. 

“Love--” Edge began, gently, wracking his mind for words to reassure him that Debbie was not about to withdraw her friendship over a disliked cup of coffee. 

He never got the chance. Before either of them said another word, Debbie bustled over from behind the counter, a plastic cup in hand brimming with something garishly pink and frozen, a rainbow of sprinkles on top. She whisked the cup out of Stretch’s hands and replaced it with the other, tutting sadly. 

“Honestly, you don’t need to drink anything you don’t like, dear,” Debbie said, patting his shoulder. She waved a hand as Stretch mumbled an apology, hunching over his new drink, “It’s all right! Some things that sound good simply don’t work out the way you hope. Remind me to tell you sometime about the fiasco we had when we first started roasting our own beans.”

She gave Stretch’s shoulder another gentle pat as she headed back behind the counter, her blonde ponytail bouncing along with every step.

Edge waited as Stretch took a sheepish sip of his drink, sighing gratefully, before he asked, “And what is that?”

“a pink princess frappuccino,” Stretch offered out the cup with a sly grin, “wanna try?”

“No, thank you,” Edge shuddered, “you choose your poisons, and I’ll choose mine.”

Stretch only shook his head sadly. “aw, not interested in my tainted love? kinda a venomous rejection, babe, don’t need to be a pain in the arsenic.”

“Your puns are noxious,” Edge told him, hiding his smile behind his coffee cup as Stretch laughed delightedly. 

That alone was worth the price of a cup of coffee. 

-finis-


	7. To-Do List

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edge is slowly but surely getting back into the swing of things.

* * *

Edge’s normal Saturday plan started early; after a brisk jog and a shower he began the day’s baking, whatever bread and muffins he planned out earlier that week.

Next was laundry, setting aside anything that needed dry cleaned to drop off on Monday on his way to work. He would strip the sheets off their bed and wash them as well, and Saturday was the one day a week that he was the one who made up the bed. 

After that were assorted other chores. It was not so much him distrusting Stretch’s methods of cleaning as a simple, deep seated need to do it himself. Stretch was unoffended by it, well-familiar with his quirks. 

To clean was soothing, a place for everything and everything in its place. Stretch did housework throughout the week and he did a fine job, but some restless compulsion in Edge was only settled when he could clean himself.

Spending an entire week off his feet was driving that compulsion into an agitated need that Stretch tried very hard to help with, bringing him towels to fold and every piece of clothing in his closet that showed even the beginning possibility of a hole. He even stifled whatever it was he wanted to say when he found Edge sitting on the living room floor, scooting carefully around and dusting everything that was in reach.

The moment he made a full circle, Stretch bullied him back to the sofa despite his protests that he was off his feet. Stretch only helped him prop his foot again and told him sternly, “you’re getting off on a technicality, edgelord, don’t make it worse by arguing with the judge.”

That week turned out to be impossibly long. 

A change to a walking cast allowed him to get at least a little back on track. His body didn’t seem to care that his leg was at less than peak capacity and after a week of enforced stillness, it wanted to move. So Edge did what he could. 

Obviously a jog was out of the question and he’d settled for an upper body workout to at least burn off some energy. Instead of standing at the kitchen island for his bakery prep, he sat on a stool with his leg propped on one of the inexpensive chairs they were using until the remodel was complete.

The last chore he was planning was making the bed. The sheets were fresh from the dryer, briskly folded to keep them from getting rumpled on the short trip from the laundry room to the bed. Navigating the basement stairs was the most difficult part, using the banister to keep from putting his full weight on his healing foot in a technique that Stretch insisted he demonstrate before grudgingly allowing him to wash the bed linens only. Edge willing allowed him to set that boundary; he hardly had room to complain of chafing beneath restrictions and overprotectiveness. 

Upstairs, Stretch was lying on the sofa, watching television. He was curled up beneath an oversized heated blanket as a sort of shield against the snowy cold visible through the front window. Sometimes in the winter, Stretch had a difficult time shaking the chill and when Edge saw that blanket, he’d purchased it immediately. Later, he realized it was meant for a large dog; it was difficult to remember sometimes that on the surface, fabric with a bone pattern was usually meant for pets. 

Stretch didn’t seem to mind using a dog blanket. He was bundled up to his cheek bones and in his arms was General Tso, the stuffed chicken Edge had given him some weeks before. Most of his face was buried into the soft plush, his half-closed sockets visible overtop.

His eye lights flicked briefly at Edge and if Stretch was planning to say something, he stifled it. He didn’t say a word, offered no complaint, not a hint of dismay. But the flicker of worry was hard to miss. In all honesty, Stretch was probably exhausted, a week’s worth of extra chores coupled with endless fretting finally catching up to him. It had been a long week for them both. 

Edge paused at the stair landing, glancing at the folded sheets in the basket. He needed to remake the bed, readying for tonight’s sleep and he’d planned on cleaning out the shower as well, letting the scrubbing bubbles do most of the work while he sat on the tub rim and wiped down the walls.

Instead, he set the basket on the bottom step and limped over to the sofa, ignoring Stretch’s confused blink as he gently extracted General Tso from his grip. The blanket was slightly more difficult to navigate, tugging it out from around Stretch until Edge could slip beneath it and lie down next to Stretch on the sofa, settling in as the little spoon. It was decadently warm under the blanket, even more so as Stretch pressed against his back, all the long length of his body from his chin on Edge’s shoulders to their long legs very carefully entwined, his healing one on the top of the pile. 

The breath of his heartfelt sigh was even warmer along the side of Edge’s skull. “hey, there.”

“Hello.” Edge craned his neck to nuzzle a gentle kiss against Stretch’s mouth, one that he returned far too briefly. 

Stretch drew back to give him a suspicious look, asking with self-deprecation, “did i look a little lonely?”

“Maybe I was the lonely one,” Edge told him challengingly. “Being replaced by a stuffed chicken. Perhaps we should ask him.” Edge plucked the toy from the floor and gave it a light shake, demanding, “Was that your plan? Were you trying to take my place?”

The beady button eyes offered no remorse and behind him, Stretch huffed a laugh, the arms around Edge tightening in a gentle squeeze. “why do you do this to me?”

 _Because it makes me happy to see you smile_ , Edge did not say. Instead, he leaned back against Stretch, snuggling into his arms, “I simply thought I’d take a break, I don’t want to overdo it.”

“heh, yeah, need to take a break while you have a break,” Stretch snickered.

“It’s healed,” Edge pointed out, “it simply needs a bit of extra support.”

“yeah, but that makes for a crummy joke.”

In front of them, whatever show Stretch was watching played on, but Edge couldn’t have said whether it was priming for a comedic scene and preparing to spring some awful drama on its viewers. All he cared about was the arms around him and Stretch’s sighs as he snuggled in close. There was no rush, Edge had plenty of time for this. Cuddling wasn’t on his official Saturday checklist, for a very good reason. 

Because spending time with Stretch was never a chore. 

-finis-


	8. Thanks a Brunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some soft domestic fluff for the holiday. ^_^

* * *

According to Stretch, if Edge were sensible, he would have contacted the local paper deliverer and asked them to temporarily bring the newspaper to the door instead of leaving it in the holder by their mailbox. It was a perfectly reasonable request, he’d argued, although his words were closer to, ‘not like you’re asking ‘cause you’re an asshole, babe, everyone knows you’re one of the not-so-walking wounded.’

Edge still prefered to make the short walk to the end of the driveway. What he yearned for was a long run, returning pleasantly energized and ready to begin his day, but until the doctor’s declared him healed, this short walk would have to do.

Paper in hand, he headed for the kitchen for his first cup of coffee. The door was barely open when he heard a yelp of panic, along with, “don’t come in yet!”

That froze him in his steps. Since Stretch temporarily took over the kitchen duties from Edge, whatever faith he had in his husband’s cooking skills was one that was regularly shaken, in various burnt forms. He generally kept to warming meals brought by his brother with occasional ventures into grilled cheese but that didn't seem to be the case today.

Currently, Stretch was standing pressed against the oven, blocking it from sight as if Edge could peer through time, space, and the door to see what was inside. The countertop was littered with dripping bowls and dirty utensils, and his husband’s expression was one twisted between panic and pleading.

Edge turned on his heel and limped back out. 

He spread the newspaper out on the coffee table, as had been his habit since the loss of their dining room set, pen in hand as he began reading over the local stories. A moment later, Stretch came out with a coffee mug clutched in both hands. He hastily thumped it down on the table and darted back into the kitchen. 

Hm. 

Edge picked up the cup and took a sip, ignoring the ring the mug left on the newspaper as he read on. 

It was nearly twenty minutes later when Stretch finally put in another appearance with a tray in hand. He carried it with the delicacy of one carrying a wobbly pile of antique china, setting it gingerly on the table with a weak, “tada?”

Edge looked at the plate. It held two pancakes of a kind he’d seen recipes for but never attempted, hugely fluffy, rising from the plate as more ‘cake’ than ‘pan’. Each one was perfectly golden brown and shaped into a heart, with a careful layer of sliced strawberries around the crisp edges. More strawberry sauce was drizzled overtop along with a heavy dollop of melting whipped cream in the middle. 

“looks good?” Stretch asked anxiously. He was all but dancing from foot to foot. “i watched the youtube video like, ten times. don’t ask about the ones that didn’t make it, they’ll get buried with full honors, promise. i know you like to be the one to make the eats but i was thinking i could try something new for valentine’s and feed you up for a change instead of sticking to cereal. if you don’t want it, i get it, i--”

Whatever else Stretch was about to ramble out was cut off as Edge took hold of the front of his sweatshirt, yanking him down to smother them beneath a thorough kiss. By the time Edge pulled away, Stretch's dazed eye lights were the same heart-shape as the pancakes.

“I love them,” Edge told him simply. “Thank you.”

“yeah?” Stretch breathed, the he blinked and shook his head, his eye lights returning to normal. “um, i mean, you’re welcome.”

He yelped as Edge tugged him down to sit on the floor between his knees, leaning away from his casted leg automatically, and only when he was settled did Edge reach for the fork. He cut a fair-sized portion, swiping it through the puddled strawberry sauce and took a bite.

Stretch tipped his head back, watching anxiously, “is it good?”

Edge chewed thoughtfully. It was overdone, the beaten egg whites mixed too thoroughly to give proper lift. The strawberry syrup was tongue-cramping sweet with too-little fruit to help cut it. He swallowed and immediately forked up another bite, “It’s delicious.”

Between his knees, Stretch squirmed happily and when Edge offered him a bite, he took it, humming his own appreciation.

“not too bad,” he decided, licking his teeth with a pink-stained tongue. Edge dropped another kiss on top of his skull, leaving behind a strawberry-sticky mark. 

He decided to leave it, trading bites between them as they ate their way through the pancakes. Strawberry sweetness aside, the real flavor in them was love, and Edge wanted to enjoy every bite. 

-finis-


	9. Cut Scenes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this scene was cut from [Bedside Stories: Chapter 3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21758671/chapters/52747894) because I didn't want to up the rating on the story. 
> 
> But for your viewing pleasure, I bring you the cut sexytimes scene, because y'all deserve it. 😘
> 
> That means warning, sexytimes ahead!!

* * *

_“comfortable? in any pain?” For once he wasn’t going to fuss about the pain meds._

_“Yes and no, in that order."_

_“great.” And without preamble, Stretch pulled his sweatshirt over his head, then pushed his track pants down to puddle at his feet. Didn’t bother to try for seductive, there wasn’t much need, anyway. Edge was usually seduced by him breathing, proved it by staring with wide sockets as Stretch sauntered over. “think you could use a distraction, don’t you?”_

_“I...yes. Yes.” The word shifted closer to a moan as Stretch straddled him, and he could say with a good amount of smug pride that very soon, Edge was pretty damn distracted._

* * *

Stretch settled into Edge’s lap, trying to keep most of his weight on his knees. Yeah, seemed to him that what they both needed was a good old-fashioned distraction, something better than shitty television reports and papers full of bad news. He ducked his head to take a quick kiss, murmuring into Edge’s mouth, “let me?”

“Yes,” Edge groaned out. Stretch tutted when he made to get with the grabby hands, lightly pressing them back down. This was his turn to play and he was only getting started. He stroked over the long, flat bones of Edge’s ribs, teasing along his sternum, fondling his way down his spine to lingering on soft, sensitive cartilage. So easy to get worked up, his baby, already breathing heavily as Stretch’s hands ventured lower. The shorts Edge was wearing might not be the cutting edge (heh) of fashion, but in Stretch’s opinion, they more than made up for it by being easy access. He slipped a hand in the waistband, briefly tracing the curves and angles of Edge’s pelvis, but drawing this out wasn’t supposed to be the point. Distractions, that was where this was going and at his encouraging touch the hot swirl of magic in Edge’s pelvic cradle solidified, forming into his cock. 

“looks like you’re up for a little something something,” Stretch teased. Whatever Edge might’ve said dissolved into a groan as Stretch gave the shaft a firm stroke. Slickness was already beading at the head and Stretch rubbed this thumb through it, felt Edge shiver at the slippery little touch. 

See, the thing was, Stretch didn’t get to drive very often. Not that he was complaining, hell, no, if his baby wanted to channel his control issues into orgasms, that was fine by him. All it meant was Stretch liked to take advantage of it when he could. Like now.

His own magic was easy to form, eager to get the party started; this might be for Edge, but it didn’t mean Stretch wasn’t horny as all hell. Wasn't like they’d been able to get busy at the hospital. Even if Edge’s room hadn’t been a revolving door for docs and nurses, the stink of pain-sweat wasn’t exactly a turn on. Not like here where all Stretch could smell was the spicy-sweetness of their combined magic, thickly heady if he ignored the faint tinge of spilled tomato soup. 

Stretch shuffled forward a little further on his knees, holding Edge’s shaft steady as he rose up and guided it inside as he sank back down, sighing as the hard length filled him. It was an easy glide, both of them wet and ready, and fuck, he never got tired of this, never, the way Edge’s cock stretched his walls felt so fucking _good_ , settling deep inside him. 

Trembling hands came to rest on Stretch's hip bones and this time he let them, let those soft gloves smooth over the curves of his iliac crests with uncommon gentleness. Not that Edge was ever exactly rough during sex, but this was softer than his usual. Edge didn’t treat him like spun glass or anything, but Stretch wasn’t stupid. Even when he was coming, Edge never really lost control. That was okay; Stretch got it, his HP was low, so what. Edge wasn’t gonna get off if he was too busy worrying about hurting him, so let him have his control. 

Well, most of the time. 

Stretch gave a leisurely roll of his hips and the ragged sound Edge made was fucking luscious, low and gravely, ripe with need. 

“no, no,” Stretch scolded when Edge tried to hurry him, resisting the hands that took the chance to urge him on. “this is my turn to take care of you.”

“This isn’t care, you’re killing me,” Edge groaned. His sockets were clenched shut, his whole face tight with strain.

“think so?” Stretch rose up on his knees, so slowly, until just the tip of the shaft was still inside him. “be a lovely way to die.” Better than a few others Stretch didn't want to think of.

He sank back down hard enough for their bones to clack and Edge jerked, crying out.

“don’t move that leg, babe, i’d hate to stop,” Stretch said, sing-song sweet. Edge’s sockets slit open, the bare rim of crimson brightness showing. Stretch moved again, watched it crackle in Edge’s eye lights, but this time there was only a faint quiver, their pelvic bones chattering softly together, “there you go,” Stretch crooned, rolling his hips in a nice, easy movement. “let me do all the work this time, pretty.”

He managed to make it last longer than it had any right to, every slow, sinuous glide dragging out pleading that in turn became desperate gasps. The sound Edge made when he finally came was from so deep inside, Stretch swore he could feel the vibration of it in his own soul. 

Even as Edge was shaking with his own pleasure, his gloved fingers slipped between them, down where they were still joined. Their movements were pleasure-clumsy as they rubbed Stretch’s clit but that was all he needed. His own whimpers were caught in his throat, smothered by Edge’s mouth suddenly against his and, oh, fuck, yeah, he’d needed that. Sex, sure, the sex was great, but more than that, he needed Edge looking sweaty and sated, sockets languidly hooded and on the verge of dropping off. 

Usually zonking out after sex was Stretch’s job, but Edge looked like he was about to get some impromptu work experience. Stretch managed to get him rearranged on the sofa before he fell asleep, which was a good thing because Edge was too damned heavy to be dragging around, even without the cast. 

Soon enough he was sound asleep, sockets closed, the blanket rising and falling with each breath. Yep, that was a distraction well done. 

But now Stretch had another job to do, one he’d decided on right around the time he’d come to the conclusion that stripping in their living room was a brilliant life choice. He left Edge on the sofa and headed upstairs to wash up a little bit and to change into some fresh clothes. If his baby was gonna sleep for a while, there was time for him to head out for a while, down to the Embassy for a visit. 

He had a favor to ask. 

-fin


	10. Throwing in the Towel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what’s up with my obsession of writing Edge doing housework. Please, have an overdose of domestic bliss.

* * *

A washing machine and dryer were a surface luxury, as much as having a wardrobe past two similar outfits and a single pair of worn pajamas was. For years Edge washed clothing by hand, his own every few days, Red’s whenever he could pin him down long enough to peel them off and there were times he thought the clothing fought as hard as his brother. 

When they’d come Aboveground, Edge learned very quickly how much he enjoyed the pleasant monotony of a version of laundry that didn’t include being elbow-deep in achingly cold water and instead meant neatly hanging up clothes in rows or precisely folding towels still warm from the dryer while he listened to Sinatra or Ella Fitzgerald. 

Now that he was more or less back on his feet, Edge was indulging in his laundry fetish with relish. Researching the benefits of various kinds of soap, reading about the evils of fabric softener and the way it destroyed clothing with such dismay that Stretch asked him if he was reading the newest Stephen King book. His attempts at using the advice from different blogs were met with varying amounts of success, but more important was the satisfaction of being able to try.

Today was another load of towels and how Stretch dirtied them so quickly, Edge decided long ago not to ask. Blue might scold about wasting water, but Edge prefered Stretch to shower as frequently as necessary, as opposed to sitting around marinating in whatever he’d gotten into.

With the towels safely in the dryer, he was ready to start a second load of colors. Edge carried in the laundry basket cautiously down the basement stairs, using the handrail as a brace, and limped carefully to the laundry room only to stop just inside the door. 

Stretch was sitting on the floor next to the dryer, leaning against the thrumming machine, asleep. 

It wasn’t entirely unusual. Stretch could fall asleep in some fairly strange places, as could Sans and Red. His only constraint was his height, which didn’t mean he wasn’t able to cram into absurdly tight spots. If it fits, Stretch was more than happy to sits and nap. Finding him curled up on top of their refrigerator with one leg and arm dangling off the side was still a fond memory,

As choices went, next to the dryer wasn’t a bad one. It was warm, the small room echoing with the thrum of the machine coupled with the soft thud of the wool dryer balls. Perhaps it worked like those sounds of nature programs, bringing calming dreams. 

Edge hoped that was true. Stretch was working so hard lately. Clearing the snow from the front and back walkways to make sure there was no chance for crutches to slip, working out meals, running into Ebott to pick up their grocery order from the farmer's market and to run errands. Many things that Edge usually did alongside his own chore list, and for all that Edge was willing to allow him his chance to indulge in overprotectiveness, it didn’t cancel out Edge’s concerns. With all the issues Stretch was having with his HP, he truly did need his rest. 

Even if it was on the floor of their laundry room. 

The towels needed at least twenty minutes longer before they would be finished drying. The next load of washing could wait that long. Edge carefully set his basket on top of the washing machine and as quietly as he could, he opened the linen closet and shook out a blanket. 

Stretch didn’t so much as twitch as Edge covered him up, sockets closed, teeth parted as he breathed deeply and evenly. Edge risked a soft kiss against Stretch’s brow bone, murmuring almost inaudibly, ”Sleep well.”

Whatever dreams he was having, Edge hoped they were sweet. 

-finis


	11. Olly Olly Oxen Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spring is on the way and everyone is excited for it. Well, almost everyone, some people are still healing. 
> 
> But that doesn’t mean cheaters should be allowed to prosper.

* * *

It wouldn’t be accurate to call it spring yet, but the weather was improving. The snow was mostly gone, leaving the ground a sludgy mess that in only a few weeks would be ready to begin spring planting. 

Edge was willing to wait for slightly warmer and less muddy days to enjoy the growing warmth; hopefully by then he would no longer need the walking cast. He was already planning a burning party for the damn thing that wasn’t entirely an excuse to show off the new kitchen he’d have by then.

Stretch, on the other hand, disappeared some hours ago, all but throwing himself outside into the cold sunshine. Honestly, Edge was fine with that. He loved Stretch dearly but enjoying a few hours on his own listening to his podcasts was hardly a measure of his affection. Once he was done with his TED talks and lunchtime was closer, Edge would attempt to track him down and spend an enjoyable hour listening to him chatter about whatever trouble he managed to find. It was something to look forward to.

A knock on the door came just as Edge was finishing dusting his action figure collection, making him frown. He paused the current podcast about why the free world needed satire and limped over to answer it. He was accustomed to looking down, Stretch and Asgore were rare exceptions, but in this case he was forced to look down, down, down, to see Toby, one of the neighborhood children, on his porch, looking up at him hopefully. 

Edge crouched down to keep from towering over the boy. “Hello, Toby, what can I do for you?”

"Hello, Mister Edge Sir,” he said earnestly. “Can you help us?"

Edge frowned. "Of course, child, what's wrong?"

"We're playing hide and go seek with Stretch but he's cheating! He shortcuts away!" Toby’s scowl was filled with the pure, righteous indignation of a child whose sense of justice was being severely impugned. 

With some effort, Edge kept his face straight. Solemnly, he said, "I see. That is cheating.”

Toby nodded firmly. “Can you help?”

“Hm,” Edge looked down at his foot, still firmly secured in a walking cast. “I’m afraid I won’t be much use chasing after him. However--”

He dug his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through the list of contacts until he found the one he was looking for. The phone barely rang once. 

“Yes, good morning. I need a favor.”

* * *

Stretch’s clothes were muddy. 

Not a little muddy, not ‘take your shoes off at the door to let them sit so you can clap away all the dried muck tomorrow’. Oh, no, he was the kind of muddy where he was spattered from his sneakers to his skull, the kind where Edge would take one look at him and tell him to teleport right into the bathtub so he could shower with his clothes on. Liberally decorated with a generous quantity of deep, dark springtime mud, still freezing cold from the ground it came from.

He loved it. 

Spring was finally trying to sproing after what felt like an endless winter, and when the kiddos came to his door that morning to eagerly invite him to play hide and seek, Stretch was halfway out the door before he even had his shoes on. 

The mud might be cold, there was still a chill in the air, but the sun was making a cautious appearance and if a person didn't mind the soppy ground, there were plenty of excellent places to hide. 

And places to hightail it to when getting caught was imminent.

He’d been relaxing behind a nice gardening shed when he heard the pitter patter of little feet tromping their way towards him. Welp, that was his cue. 

Yasmine howled as he broke cover, dashing away. He probably didn’t have the stamina to get all the way back to Designated Home Free, which was Oscar’s front porch, and he definitely couldn’t outrun Yasmine for long. She was an older kid and as a Bun, she was pretty light on her feet, but Stretch had a headstart and a shortcut up his sleeve.

“you wouldn’t have seen me if i wore my camouflage pants!” Stretch called back to her. 

“Why didn’t you?” she panted. He could hear the grin in her voice. Best part about kids was they always appreciated a good joke.

“eh, i couldn’t find ‘em!” Stretch laughed and he heard her laughing through her groan, too close, she was gaining on him. “sorry, kid, time for me to step out, better _hop_ to it next time!”

Or tried to, anyway. He got as far as, “Bett--urk!” when a cheery ting interrupted him. Stretch barely had a chance to see the bright blue light shine through the front of his sweatshirt before he was abruptly yanked to the ground. He yelped, struggling against gravity even as a small hand slapped him between the shoulderblades. "hey!"

Yasmine was already running away, giggling. 

A pair of slender legs stepped up next to him wearing bright red converse hightops, similar to his own. Unlike his, they were pristine, not a smudge of mud dared sully the canvas, and they were topped with long white socks pulled up to bony knees.

"My apologies!” Stretch managed to lift his head up to glare at Papyrus, who only beamed at him innocently. Yeah, right, like Stretch would be fooled by that? He’d never had Sans as part of his name in his life, Stretch damn well knew better. And it didn’t take two tries to guess who tattled on him to Papyrus, et tu Edge? Betrayed by his own husband, shameful. 

Papyrus shook a long finger at him sternly. “It looked like you were about to shortcut which is certainly a violation of the strict rules of hide and seek. But I am sure I was wrong, you would never stoop so low as to cheat against children.”

“if using magic is cheating, then so are you!” Stretch pointed out, trying to hold back a grin.

“One good cheat deserves another!” Papyrus said brightly. “I will let you up if you promise not to teleport to achieve a state of olly olly oxen free!”

Hmph. He could wait for the timer on the spell to tick down, only as much as Stretch didn’t mind the mud, he hadn’t planned on wallowing in it. Plus, the damp ground was still pretty damn cold and he didn’t really want to turn this into a round of ‘who can turn the other person’s soul blue faster’. Wasn’t fair to the kiddos, it was only a two skeleton game.

“deal,” Stretch sighed. Sans would deny it to the sky and back, but when Papyrus had someone by the balls, he knew how to give ‘em a cheerful twist. It was obviously something the three of them had in common, ‘cause the moment the pressure on his soul eased, Stretch shortcutted over to Papyrus and slapped him firmly on the back. “tag! you’re it!”

Papyrus’s mouth dropped open in outrage, “YOU PROMISED!”

“you never said anything about being ‘it’, only about running away!” Stretch laughed, both hands held up as he backed away. “edge would tell you to work on your negotiation skills! hey, no touchbacks!”

Stretch turned and ran as Papyrus lunged towards him. Not that he was gonna win. Longer legs didn’t help much when the one chasing you sometimes flagrantly disobeyed the laws of physics. All around them the kids were laughing and cheering Papyrus on, the brats. 

Nope, he was gonna get caught and he was gonna catch someone else, and that was fine. He couldn't think of a better way to spend the morning than counting down to hiding and seeking on an almost-spring day. 

Revenge against tattletales could wait until lunchtime.

-fin


	12. Make Like A Tree And Beat It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is a comedian.

* * *

Jeff had only been working at the Embassy for a few weeks when he learned one very important truth: for all that Stretch didn’t work for the Embassy and didn’t want to, he sure did enjoy the gossip.

According to him, Edge had all these ‘morals’, finger quotes heavily implied, and refused to speculate on the personal lives of those he worked with. Fortunately, Edge was about the only person working for the Embassy who did, and Jeff was more than happy to stop over with the goods. Particularly when it came to setting up a pair of would-be lovers who should’ve started dating a long time ago. Or so he was told, Jeff didn’t know B.P. that well, but even he could see the tension in the air whenever the food cart vendor stopped by. 

Seemed like everyone was getting impatient waiting for true love to blossom and Catty had implemented a plan, the results of which would go down in annals of Embassy history, right next to the record of the time Stretch came downtown only wearing a sheet.

Stretch’s eye lights were bright, verging on forming into little hearts as he clutched a throw pillow in his lap, leaned forward eagerly, “okay, andy, fill me in and don’t spare the details, how did it go?”

Edge was sitting on the other end of the sofa, typing away on his laptop and not at all perturbed to have Stretch’s bare feet trying to burrow into the warm place under his thigh. His reading glasses really added to the effect as he said, primly, “Gossiping behind people’s backs is rude.”

“sorry, not all of us can have a file cabinet with the juicy details, batman,” Stretch sniffed. His burrowing toes turned to pinching with fair dexterity until Edge swatted them away. “some of us are keeping up with a glorious and rich oral tradition and i don’t wanna hear any puns about being oral from either of you!”

Jeff struggled to keep his face innocently straight. Edge didn’t seem to even struggle, he only looked up from the laptop screen, peering at them both solemnly over the wire rims of his glasses. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

Stretch only rolled his eye lights so hard they briefly vanished, leaving his sockets sort of creepily empty until they flashed back. “uh huh. andy, ignore him and gimme that tea.”

“Did you want tea? I can make some.” Edge set his laptop on the end table and started to stand. His limp was getting less noticeable by the day, Jeff saw, and that was a hell of a relief. 

“what?” Stretch turned back to him distractedly, blinking, “no, babe, no…i didn’t mean...it’s…you know what, yes, i’d love some tea. andy?”

“Yes, please.” Jeff didn’t ask for anything else, only sat hovering on the cusp of hope as they waited. He had a running theory that Edge was physically incapable of not feeding visitors, and he silently cheered when it was proved by Edge returned with a tray of mugs and a plate of cranberry orange scones that were probably better than the ones they served the Queen of England, or possibly even just Queen, if they took tea in their dressing room.

“thanks, babe.” Jeff let Stretch pick up his cup first. They’d gotten their drinks confused one time and Jeff swore he could still taste cloying honey clinging to the back of his tongue. “you didn’t miss much, andy here is all ready to spill that the tea for me.”

Edge frowned, “Tea stains terribly, what are you planning on spilling it on?”

Stretch paused with his mug halfway to his mouth, his head dropping as he sighed out, “you know, i can’t even tell if you’re fucking with me.”

Edge picked up his own mug, leaning down and dropped a light kiss on top of his skull and his voice was nearly as sweet as Stretch’s tea as he said, “Consent is important, love. Rest assured, I will always make sure that you’re fully aware when I’m fucking with you.”

Jeff choked and nearly spit out his mouthful of tea. Edge only sat back in his place on the sofa, seeming not to notice Jeff straining for breath and Stretch’s heated glare.

“okay, i’m done,” Stretch announced. He stood up, carrying his mug along and Jeff followed, hastily snagging a scone before they were out of reach. ”so many levels of done, i can’t even with you today, i wanna hear the damn epic love story, it’s supposed to be better than ‘titanic’! come on, andy, you can spill the beans outside.”

“If you’re spilling beans, please clean up when you’re done!” Edge called after them. Stretch made an incoherent sound of outage and kept walking, Jeff doggedly following alongside him.

“Was he being funny?” Jeff asked, torn between laughing and not daring to insult the one who made the baked goods.

“you have no idea,” Stretch muttered darkly, “c’mon, before the _tea-rex_ back there thinks of anything else to add.”

“Strange day, usually you have him _raptor-ed_ around your finger,” Jeff teased. Worth it for the snorts of laughter he got, both from next to him and a more subtle chuff from the living room.

Not that Jeff cared about the interruptions. Stretch might want the goods on everyone else’s love lives, but Jeff was pretty content being an observer for this one.

No bones about it.

-finis-


	13. By Fair Means or Fowl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some days just demand a fluffy chicken story.

* * *

Spring was starting to peek out from the blanket of winter, offering warmer days and bluer skies. It was still relatively cool out today, but not enough to stop Stretch from napping outside in the sunshine. 

When Edge ventured out to find him, he was curled up on a threadbare blanket that was spread out on the ground as a feeble barrier against the damp. From the look of it, its duty was done, and it would definitely need a wash before it ended up back in Edge’s linen closet. 

Edge closed the sliding glass door behind him as he headed out to his husband. Lunch was ready and waiting, and worth interrupting a nap over.

Halfway there, Edge paused, his sockets narrowing. Was...was Stretch’s sweatshirt _moving_?

He watched closely and yes, the orange fabric shifted in a way that could not be explained by the light breeze. Right in the empty area below his rib cage where there was only his spine leading downward.

Well. This was an expected and slightly ominous puzzle for the day. 

Did he go over and investigate or did he wake Stretch from a distance? Startling him awake might have unforeseen consequences, but he couldn’t exactly leave the situation as it was. Edge knew a couple of ghosts who lived in the neighborhood and nice as they were, he really wasn’t interested in any personal hauntings.

“Stretch?” Edge called softly, then a little louder. “Stretch!”

There was no reaction, not from Stretch, anyway. But even as Edge watched, the hem of Stretch’s sweatshirt rose up and a familiar, chicken-y head poked out as if wondering what all the fuss was about. 

“Nugget,” Edge sighed. Of course. That should have been his first answer. He went over and crouched down to give Stretch a gentle shake. 

That accomplished what calling his name didn’t. Stretch let out a sleepy snort, his sockets slitting open. “huh? ba’?” 

“I came to get you for lunch, but I think perhaps you might already be full,” Edge said dryly. 

Too soon for puns, it seemed. All that got him was muddled confusion, owlishly wide sockets blinking. “wha?”

Before Edge could begin to explain, his sweatshirt gave an enthusiastic squirm that woke him right the hell up. Stretch let out an impressively shrill screech, hands flying down to still pugnacious poultry as he sputtered out, “what the fuck??”

Stretch yanked up the hem of his sweatshirt, looking down in disbelief at Nugget, who was settled just inside his rib cage, happily clucking out her laying song.

“seriously? how did you even get in there?” Stretch groaned, slumping back on the blanket.

“You should be flattered,” Edge teased. ”She seems to have picked up your knack of teleporting.”

“yeah, that’s old news. okay, shoo now, get out.” Stretch gave her a gentle nudge, then a slightly harder one. Nugget only leaned and did not move, looking very unimpressed at this attempt. “look, i know it seems like a great one-bedroom apartment for you, but here’s your eviction notice. i’m not interested in working part time as a reverse baba yaga.”

Nothing. 

Stretch looked up at Edge imploringly. “little help here?”

“Terribly sorry,” Edge said blandly, “evictions are the responsibility of the landlord.”

Stretch gave him a look that was torn down the middle between amusement and irritated, “excuse me? i’m pretty sure for better or for worse was included in the wedding vows.”

“They were,” Edge said agreeably. “But there was no mention of not enjoying minor suffering at the others’ expense.”

“you..!”

Before Stretch could work up any suitable outrage, Nugget let out a cackle and rose, proudly showing off her latest egg nestled between two of Stretch’s ribs. A few moments of preening and she was off to investigate the grass for possible bugs.

Stretch grumpily crossed his arms over his chest, staring up at the sky. “i feel so used. thanks for _egg-spelling_ yourself, you brat.”

“I think you bring out the _nest_ in her.” Edge reached down and picked up the egg. “At least she paid rent.”

“yeah, well, i’m changing the locks. and you!” Stretch said accusingly, “you were no help at all!”

Edge raised his hands defensively, “I was simply avoiding getting in the middle of a property dispute.” He leaned down to smother Stretch’s indignant scowl beneath a kiss, drawing away to murmur. “Now, as I was saying. Lunch is ready.”

A kiss followed by a food offering was a proven technique against Stretch’s temper and it worked a charm, Stretch melting at the first gentle touch. “what are we having?”

There were times that keeping his expression straight and solemn was an extraordinary challenge. “Spoils provided by your renters. Egg salad sandwiches.”

“heh. of course we are.” Stretch took Edge’s hand and let him pull him to his feet. “they may not respect personal boundaries, but at least they get their work done. good thing they work for chicken feed.”

Edge allowed a small smile to curve his mouth, squeezing Stretch’s hand gently as he led him into the house. The egg was cradled in his other hand and perhaps there were moments that owning chickens wasn’t what it was cracked up to be. But he could always count on them for a pun.

“I suppose you’ll go to bed early tonight?” Edge said lightly.

“why is that?” Stretch was already grinning, his eye lights bright. His love always knew a setup.

“Because you already got laid once today.”

He gave the words just long enough to register, then dropped Stretch’s hand and ran as best he could even as Stretch hooted a laugh behind him. Getting caught was inevitable and lunch might be waiting a little longer. That was fine, it would be there when they finally got back inside. 

No harm, no fowl.

-finis-


	14. Easily Distracted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Working from home seems like a good idea, but it has a few...challenges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm sick and I'm also working from home myself, and I'm too tired to brain, but damn if I didn't need something with my fave boys. ^_^

* * *

One of the worst things about working from home was the constant distractions. 

When Edge worked in the office, he was alone, barring any meetings or occasional interruptions from Janice. Here at home, his will to work faced unexpected challenges. 

Challenges aptly named Stretch. 

Not five minutes ago, Edge was deep in an excel worksheet and nearly finished when Stretch sat next to him on the sofa. A single glance at him was enough for him to fumble his typing and he cursed silently, deleting the alphabet soup jumble from the cell.

Not that it was Stretch’s fault, it wasn’t as if he was attempting to get his attention. In fact, all he was doing was eating toast. 

It was the _way_ that he was eating it that was the problem. 

To begin with, each nicely browned slice was glistening with a pool of melted butter that was then glazed over with entirely too much honey, which turned what could have been a light snack into an overly-sugary dessert. When Stretch picked up a slice, sticky dribbles ran sluggishly down his hand, trailing all the way his wrist. 

Stretch never even looked away from the television, he only lifted his hand to his mouth and lapped up that line of golden sweetness with near pornographic intensity, the curl of his light orange tongue against the paleness of his bones mesmerizing. It did not help that the color of the honey was rather obscenely similar to Stretch’s magic and watching him sucking each of his fingers clean in turn was enough to leave Edge flustered, heat rising uncomfortable in his pants. 

“Stretch?” Edge tried, wincing at the revealing hoarseness. 

“hmm?” Stretch sounded distracted and perhaps he was; the television was playing one of the cheesy old science fiction movies that he adored so much, his attention was split between that and the messy remnants of his toast. His tongue flicked out again, sinfully darting between each one of his phalanges in search of every droplet of sweet honey. 

Fuck. 

Edge tried subtly to clear his throat, but there was still a lingering roughness in his voice as he asked, “Would you like me to get you a napkin?”

“huh? oh, yeah.” Stretch held up his sticky hand and his smile was merely sheepish, not even hinting at the easy slyness that Edge knew oh, so well. It was not a smile to be trusted, lies hidden behind those teeth as well as a tongue that slid lightly across them while Edge watched before he said, “nah, i’m good, babe, thanks anyway.”

He took another bite of his toast, chewing amicably and it shouldn’t have been seductive, it shouldn’t, except for the way Stretch sucked a finger into his mouth again with aching slowness, sighing around it before pulling it free with a sound like an obscenity, tongue sweeping over the tip. 

Edge closed the lid of his laptop and carefully set it on the side table. He reached out and took the plate from Stretch’s lap, ignoring his startled, “hey!” even as he pushed him down on the sofa cushions, straddling his slim hips. That protest faded quickly and there was the slyness Edge was searching for, not in his smile but shining in his eye lights, richly obvious. 

“sorry, babe, didn’t mean to distract you.” He settled his hands on Edge’s pelvis, thumbs stroking up beneath his shirt along his iliac crests. That sultry, taunting tongue curled invitingly along Stretch’s teeth.

“Liar,” Edge accused, already breathless and wanting, but he didn’t give Stretch a chance to improve on his lie. He leaned in swiftly, taking that teasing mouth with his own and beneath the thick honeyed sweetness was the taste of Stretch, of his love.

Business might be taking a little longer to get finished while he worked from home, but Edge wasn’t complaining. Some things were worth the distraction. 

-finis-


	15. Subtleties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the little things in life you cherish.

* * *

“Love?”

Stretch looked up from the scientific journal he was about to write a scathing review about, --honestly, why the fuck did some Humans think they understood magic better than Monsters did-- to see Edge unexpectedly standing in the front door, looking in at him. Way sooner than Stretch thought he’d be seeing him, he’d only been outside for the better part of an hour now and still had 45 minutes left on the meter. 

The doc had changed out his cast for a sort of protective boot just today and Stretch had a nasty suspicion that Edge was gonna be a hell of a lot harder to hold back now. He’d pushed those doctor’s orders within a millimeter of disobeying before, even if he hadn’t strictly violated them yet. 

Yet.

That week spent sitting on the sofa had given Stretch an entirely new perspective on how much of a brat his husband could be. Such a shame that it was a damned adorable look on him.

Like now. Edge escaped outside almost the moment they got home from getting his cast removed, fleeing like a dog let off a leash. Now he was standing there, cheek bones flushed pink with fresh air and his eye lights bright, looking every bit as young as he was and none at all of the deeply reserved, stoic skeleton the rest of the world usually saw. 

See? Adorable. Stretch wanted to gather all that preciousness up in a ball and knit it into a huge sweater, just so he could snuggle in and keep it close, but since that tech wasn’t on his invention list (yet), being close to Edge was the next best thing. “what’s up, babe?”

Edge tipped his head towards the front yard. “Come look?”

Okay, yeah, mental enrichment and scorn could wait a bit. Stretch set the journal aside and stood, pausing to stuff his feet into his shoes before following Edge outside. 

It was a little chilly, spring and winter were still squabbling, but it looked like spring was finally pulling ahead because his sweatshirt was enough to keep the breeze at bay.

Edge led him over to one of the garden beds where trowels and other tools were scattered about. He started to crouch, grimaced as the stiff boot stopped him and instead sat on the little gardening mat he’d laid out, his bound leg stretched out next to him. The soil in front of him was freshly turned, a rich dark brown next to the untouched winter-beaten ground around it, and in the middle of it were pale leafy green points poking through the earth.

“Look,” Edge said, hushed, as if he might accidentally wake those young growing plants. 

Stretch sat down next to him, uncaring of the dampness seeping through the seat of his pants. Partly out of solidarity and partly because when you stirred his sense of balance in with his luck, if he tried crouching he’d probably fall in the flowerbed and squash the poor green things. He leaned in curiously, inspecting the plants. Some of them looked like sharp little points and some were more like buds, their deeper color hinting through the furled green still surrounding them. 

“Do you see?” Edge asked, and Stretch mentally added the triumph in his voice to the growing list of his adorableness. 

Stretch scooted a little closer, dutifully inspecting. “what are they?”

“These will be daffodils,” Edge lightly touched the pointier leaves, “and these are hyacinths. I have crocuses coming up on the other side. In a few weeks, all the bulbs I planted will be in bloom.” He smiled a little in obvious pleasure. “There will be a riot of colors all over our yard. They’ll be able to smell the hyacinths from the sidewalk.”

Stretch honestly only had the vaguest idea what any of those were, gardening wasn’t really his thing. But then, he wasn’t really looking at the plants anymore. His husband’s delight was a much better show. 

Once, he might not even have noticed the subtleties of it. Years ago, he’d wisecracked to Sans that Edge had all the expression of a Vulcan on his third day at Disneyworld. Those were the sort of jokes Stretch didn’t really like to remember, would always be shamefully grateful that Edge hadn’t overheard, because not only was it an asshole thing to say, it was so very wrong. 

It was the little things you had to look for. The way his eye lights widened a bit, that rich crimson brightening. The slightest uptilt at the corners of his mouth, the way he gestured more and wider when he was excited. All the little things that were bundled together into the package that was his husband. Not many others could see it, were _allowed_ to see it, but damned if Stretch would be one of them. He knew better. Edge was thrilled with his garden, utterly thrilled to see these things he’d planted with his own hands growing, and fuck, Stretch loved him so much. He could sit here and watch this moment of happiness forever. 

Besides, it wasn’t like he didn’t notice those times when Edge looked at him whenever he rambled on, that heart-eyed gaze even if it was figuratively instead of literally. 

Edge was still talking about flowers, turning to look at him and, whoops, caught him staring like a lovelorn dipshit, his delight turning to mild surprise, “What is it?”

Eh, that was all right. Stretch would take lovelorn dipshit over uncaring asshole any ol’ day. 

“nothing, babe,” Stretch leaned in and pressed a light kiss to that bewildered mouth, taking a little taste of his husband’s delight. “what else did you plant?”

That tiny smile widened, only a fraction, but Stretch saw it, secreted it away in his soul with the rest of the adorable as he leaned in closer to listen. 

-finis-


	16. In Pursuit of the Inevitable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was based on a cartoon located right here: [Foxes in Love Cartoon.](https://twitter.com/foxes_in_love/status/1244166117771350016)
> 
> Seriously, how could I resist?

* * *

Stretch was up to something.

To be fair, that was truthful on any day that ended with y, but on this particular one, he was being unusually obvious about it.

It started with a partially open kitchen door. Edge did notice but didn't think much of it. He was sitting on the sofa with his laptop, leg grudgingly propped up per doctor’s orders, peering at the screen through his reading glasses and only paying the slightest attention to Stretch. That was likely his first mistake.

A glance at the door a few minutes later revealed nothing until Edge lowered his expectations or at least his gaze, because Stretch was looking out around it from only a foot off the ground, eye lights bright and watchful.

Ah. It was going to be one of those days.

Edge suppressed a smile and pointedly did not look directly at him. From the corner of his socket he watched Stretch creep out of the kitchen. Slithering across the carpeted floor with muffled success, pausing to hide behind a floor lamp that despite Stretch's lanky frame did very little to disguise him.

He waited until Stretch was behind the recliner before he asked, mildly, "What do you think you are doing?"

Muffled through the chair came, "i am slowly approaching with the intent to kiss you."

“You do realize that if you want a kiss, you only need to ask."

"and spoil the fun?" Stretch peeked around the chair. His skull was only visible to the tiny nodule above his nasal aperture, but Edge didn't need to see his smile to know it was there. It sparkled in his eye lights, their shine brighter than the sunlight coming in through the curtains. "do you feel it? The existential dread of it? a kiss is coming, it's inevitable, unavoidable!"

"Very existential," Edge agreed. As if he’d ever want to avoid them. He waited while Stretch came around the side of the chair, crawling on his belly like he was a soldier in an old war film until he was beneath the coffee table. Then Edge gathered up the stack of papers sitting next to him on the sofa and plopped them down on the floor, cutting off his route. 

It was incredibly difficult to hold back his smile at the mumble of vigorous cursing coming from beneath the coffee table, but Edge was no amateur to keeping a straight face. He refocused his attention on his laptop...for exactly the length of seconds that it took Stretch to shortcut from beneath the table to sitting on the back of the sofa directly behind him, long legs dangling over Edge’s shoulders in an impromptu sort of piggyback. Patience never was one of his strengths. 

Stretch leaned down to wrap his arms around Edge’s neck, their skulls clunking lightly together as he said happily, “gotcha!” 

"Oh no, help, stop," Edge drawled out, monotone, "I’ve been captured by the inevitable, whatever shall I do."

“you’ll take your kisses and like them!” Stretch told him sternly. The first buzzed ticklishly against the top of Edge’s skull, leaving behind cool dampness, another on the side, just beside his auditory canal. He didn’t wait to see where the third would land, quickly setting his laptop out of the line of fire before reaching up to catch hold of his husband, pulling the protesting tangle of his bones and limbs inexorably down into his lap.

Stretch giggled as Edge pressed a wet kiss of his own on his jawline, squirming in a feeble attempt at breaking free. “okay, you’ve got me. now what?”

“I believe the directive was you’ll take your kisses and like them,” Edge murmured. He nudged Stretch’s chin up to press another at his cervical vertebra, nibbling softly at the sensitive bones as he husked out, “But I’m afraid placement was never specified. Hm, I’m sure I can think of something.”

“the suspense is k--oh!” Stretch groaned as Edge trailed those kisses lower, barely managing to stutter out, “k-killing me. oh, fuck, babe--!”

Those kisses might have been inevitable for today, but Edge was planning to keep up the trend whenever he could, on every day that ended in ‘y’. That was an existential certainty. 

-finis-


	17. Adjusting the Menu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edge plans all the meals he makes very carefully, with the best ingredients and a healthy assortment of foodstuff. 
> 
> Stretch...not so much.

* * *

The concept of eating healthy hadn’t really been on Edge’s radar before he came to the surface. 

In Underfell, healthy eating meant getting to eat at all and despite his disgust at the greasy offerings found on the menu of every version of Grillby’s, Edge had never prevented Red from eating there. Whatever barter system his brother had set up with their Grillby included meals and Edge had no interest in disrupting that delicate balance. 

Once they came out from under the mountain, Edge was better able to indulge in his interest in cooking and with that came knowledge of balancing different kinds of foods, vitamins and minerals, carbs against proteins. Despite the fact that skeletons didn’t precisely digest their food, he learned that what they actually absorbed into their magic did make a difference. With a great deal of practice, Edge thought he managed to straddle the line between delicious and nutritious very well. Certainly there were no complaints, the containers in the refrigerator came up empty with regular frequency no matter who they were intended for. Seeing that empty tupperware soothed a certain restless anxiety in Edge, knowing that those he cared for were well-fed, in every sense of the word. 

That wasn’t to say there weren’t outliers. 

“What are you eating?” Edge asked resignedly. Stretch was sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, his new preferred breakfast location since the loss of their dining room set. The television was on, showing old cartoons. Stretch had an odd affinity for the one with the coyote and the roadrunner, something about inventors needing to stick together. 

Stretch never looked away from the television as he spooned up another bite from his bowl, mumbling around it, “cereal.”

“Really? Because that looks suspiciously like cake.”

Stretch swallowed and finally looked up at him. It was rather fascinating how his smile managed to be filled with both false innocence and slyness. “it’s not. it has milk on it.”

“I see. So, the thrust of your argument is that anything with milk added becomes cereal.”

“yesssss?” Stretch said, drawing out the word warily.

“Well, that is wonderful news,” Edge sat down on the sofa behind his husband, smoothing a gloved hand down his skull, lingering at the place where it joined his cervical vertebrae until Stretch squirmed from the ticklish touch. “I’ve been looking for a way to use up the last of those egg noodles. I’m sure they’ll make an excellent if somewhat crunchy breakfast treat.”

“oh, come on,” Stretch scoffed. He scooped up another bite and Edge noted with a certain morbid curiosity that while the cake became mush, the chocolate frosting seemed untouched by the moisture. “milk cake is a real thing, they make it all over latin america. tres leches, i can google it for you.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Edge propped his chin on his hand. “And do they eat it for breakfast all over Latin America?”

“yeeehhhh...probably not,” Stretch admitted. “but how bad for me can it be? it has wheat flour, eggs from our very own chickens, fresh butter.” He scooped up a dripping spoonful, droplets pattering back into the bowl. “and the milk has calcium for strong bones!”

“The frosting has ten times more sugar than you used in that experiment to power a small rocket,” Edge said dryly. “Two teaspoons of sugar and it traveled over a hundred meters.”

Stretch waved that off as obviously unimportant anecdotal evidence. “please, you made it! food made with love is always more nutritious.”

“Indeed. You’re so very certain I made it with love?”

The spoon froze on its journey to carry another bite of milk-drenched cake into Stretch’s mouth, clattering back down into the bowl. Stretch flopped backwards, tipping his skull back into Edge’s lap and his aghast look suggested that to think otherwise implied utter madness. “of course you did, you made it for me!”

That mocking pout was entirely too much to resist. Edge cupped Stretch’s jaw gently in both hands and leaned down to nuzzle a soft, upside-down kiss against his mouth. He tasted sweet, frosting and milky cake along with his honeyed magic, the tang heavier than normal, roused by the act of eating. Active magic felt odd against his tongue, almost staticy, like the bubbles of a carbonated beverage, and Edge wondered bemusedly if it was because it was attempting to incorporate _him_. He might mention the idea later; the thought of his own magic trying to consume Edge might well put Stretch off his breakfast, such as it was.

He drew back and Stretch opened his sockets, giving a brief glimpse of heart-shaped eye lights before they morphed back to their normal plain circles. It was adorable enough to make it worth stealing another light kiss before he nudged Stretch out of his lap. “Go on, finish it before it dissolves completely.”

If food made with love was more nutritious, then Edge supposed his darling should make sure to eat every bite. 

-finis-


End file.
